At the End of the Day
by smilelikey0umeanit
Summary: Sandra/Gerry one-shot set in the aftermath of the death of a certain main character...


_**A/N: For Holly and Beth who I had a great conversation with over on Twitter last week. Here's to another great episode ladies! :-D**_

_**Disclaimer: I don't own New Tricks. If I did, they'd be in Gibraltar every week.**_

Neither of them had spoken for a long while. They had simply sat on her sofa, him at one end, her at the other, in complete silence. The maelstrom of thoughts constantly throwing bittersweet feelings and hazy images carelessly around their minds refused to let them speak. The only sounds in the house were the steady ticking of the clock on the wall and the low hum of the fridge. They had remained this way for an hour, maybe more, neither daring to break the quiet that they had spent so long building up.

Without warning, he suddenly felt an unfamiliar sting behind his eyes, followed by a burning liquid trailing down his face. He was crying. Why was he crying? Shouldn't she be the one who was crying? But then again, Sandra 'tough-as-old-boots' Pullman never cried. Or so he had thought, until he had discovered the warm, vulnerable side to her after all that stuff about her dad. He moved his hands away from his face, unmasking the fact that he was in tears.

She was staring at her living room wall, unblinkingly, lost in her thoughts. She looked absolutely beautiful. The evening sun filtered through the window on to her face, which somehow managed to be simultaneously sharp and soft, illuminating her profile in a golden glow. Her usually pale blue eyes had darkened, turned more intense with unshed tears, threatening to roll down her features at any moment. He returned to his original position, unable to see her cry.

What had made him cry in the first place was a memory of Jack. Jack, who was the reason they were both sat here, crying together. It was a couple of years ago now, after Sandra had arrested James Larson, her ex. He'd admired her for having the courage to choose justice over the man she'd once been happy with. They had gone to the pub to celebrate the arrest. It was after ten, so Brian had been picked up by Esther. He'd gone to the bar to get another round in, and looked over at his colleagues. Sandra's hand was resting on the table as she stared into her drink, reminiscing. Jack placed his hand over hers, causing her to jump slightly. She raised her eyes, meeting his fatherly gaze. He asked her if she was alright, and she replied that she was fine. He nodded in understanding and removed his hand. It was a simple moment, but it expressed both of their personalities so perfectly, and it had remained in his mind ever since.

Trust him to get all poetic in a situation like this, but he realised that she'd been hurt so many times because of love. Her father loved her so much that he'd rather die than face their family name, her name, being smeared with corruption. Her mother loved her so much that she'd concealed the truth from her own daughter for thirty years to protect her. Jack loved her so much that he'd taken her in as his own, mentored her, cared for her. He swore to himself, from now on, she would never be hurt again.

A small sniff disturbed him from his thoughts. She was properly crying now, huge tears making slow, meandering paths along her soft cheeks, dropping from her chin when she didn't bother to brush them away.

"Sandra," he whispered, moving to kneel on the carpet in front of her.

"Gerry," she replied, her voice braking slightly as she tried to hold back her tears. He knew she hated to let any of them see her when she was feeling weak, but she didn't realise that her weak was strong in comparison to mere mortals.

He reached his hand up to her face and brushed away the water under her eye before it could get any further. She closed her eyes and he felt her delicate eyelashes touch his finger.

"Have you been crying too?" she asked, still with her eyes closed.

"Yeah," he sighed. "What made you cry?" He knew that she would understand that he didn't mean the fact that their best friend had just died, he wondered which particular memory or feeling or image had upset her.

She finally opened her bright blue eyes, shining in stark contrast to the redness surrounding them and the pale complexion of her skin. "When we'd arrested James Larson and we went to the pub after, he put his hand over mine and asked if I was okay, but he just looked so…caring, you know? I said I was fine and he didn't say anything about it after that," she looked down, half-smiling at the memory.

"That's what made me cry too." She looked up at him in confusion. She thought only herself and Jack had known about it. "I saw from the bar," he explained, and she nodded slowly in realisation.

"He loved you, you know. That was one of the moments where you could really see it," he said, gently taking her hands in his.

"I know. He loved all of us. That's why he did this, to protect us, but I just…" she shook her head, words failing to describe her conflicting emotions. "Only Jack could manage to be so bloody annoying from beyond the grave."

He chuckled softly, a tentative hint of happiness beginning to infiltrate the conversation. He pulled his aching body up on to the sofa so he was positioned next to her. Carefully, she rested her head on his shoulder and he placed his arm protectively around her waist in return, pressing his lips to her smooth golden hair.

"We're strong, Sandra. All of us. Brian's managed to keep off the drink, I've kicked the gambling habit and you're as hard as a bloody nut."

She snorted. "We're an odd bunch, aren't we?"

"Downright strange, the lot of us, but at least we've got each other, eh?"

"Yeah." She agreed strongly. "Fancy a drink?"

"When don't I?" he asked, releasing her so she could get the drinks.

"Is sherry okay? It's all I've got in," she asked, appearing from the kitchen with a bottle and two huge wine glasses.

"'Course," she set the glasses on the coffee table, pouring them both a generous measure. They deserved it. She lifted one of the glasses and walked over to the window.

"To Jack," she toasted the darkening evening sky over London.

He joined her at the window and nodded up at the sky sincerely.

"To Jack."

_**A/N: Ten points to everyone who spotted the Sherry reference near the end :-)**_


End file.
